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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26742091">Pressure</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver33650/pseuds/Silver33650'>Silver33650</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tarnished Ghosts and Polished Shadows [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fortnite (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Betrayal, Character Study, Gen, Memory Loss, Second Person Narration, Stuff Blowing Up, lethargy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:01:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26742091</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver33650/pseuds/Silver33650</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>TNTina didn't know what to expect when joining the Agency, but it wasn't this.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tarnished Ghosts and Polished Shadows [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923190</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pressure</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You were supposed to be demure, dutiful, obedient. A respite from raising children who were rowdy and rebellious. The only daughter born to parents with too many sons, you were supposed to be the perfect little princess, frilly and sparkly and decorated with jewelry. </p><p>You weren't any of that. </p><p>Perhaps it was all the time spent with your brothers. An unruly lot with too many muscles between them, they ran and fought and came home with bruises that required all the ice in the freezer. You weren't supposed to join them, but you did anyway. You stayed on the sidelines and out of the way... at first. But you longed to join them, and eventually you did, using your size as a strength to bolt nimble and quick between them. They could never catch you, not that they would ever consider hurting you. But for you it was all about the risk, the thrill of being in danger and laughing in its face as you avoided them again and again. </p><p>Naturally you gravitated toward sports growing up, but there wasn't enough interest in town for any league for girls. Your parents tried to direct you to more ladylike professions. They took you to the theater, to the concert hall, to the gallery, but you got bored every time. So they changed tactics. They bought you home science kits and hoped it would keep you inside. And it did, but not in the way they expected. Because all it took was one little mistake, one small hand pouring too much of one thing into an already volatile mixture, for an explosion to happen. </p><p>"Explosion" is probably too strong a word for what happened. It was more messy than dangerous. But to you, it was a revelation. That science had this side to it was appealing, exciting, and you begged for more kits. And your parents delivered, with the stipulation that you had to keep your experiments outside going forward. It was an easy sacrifice to make, since you preferred the outdoors anyway. </p><p>In the backyard you grew into an amateur chemist, pouring and mixing and observing the results. The more intense the reaction, the greater your delight. Your brothers sometimes joined as your assistants, but you forbid them from helping ever again after they broke one of your beakers. You would see less and less of them anyway, as the years went by. Your brothers went off to colleges here and there and became adults until it was just you and your parents in a big empty house. Then it was your turn to leave, and you prepared for the adventure of a lifetime. </p><p>Instead you got disappointment. </p><p>You majored in chemistry but found your experiments beholden to too many rules. Safety rules, scientific method rules, peer review rules. You stopped going to class and eventually dropped out. Your parents gave you tight smiles when you came home, only a year after you left, and their unspoken disappointment was so oppressive in the tight air of the empty house that you got your own apartment and tried something else. </p><p>So you tried joining the military; there were plenty of explosives there. One of your brothers was an officer, and you hoped he would help get you the position you wanted. But you couldn't even get through basic training with the way you broke rules left and right, and it was only through your brother's intervention that you escaped a dishonorable discharge, but you were kicked out all the same. </p><p>With nowhere else to go, you went home. </p><p>Your parents were delighted but wary when you arrived, whispering just out of earshot as you moved back into your bedroom and shut yourself inside. You stayed there for a while, trying to come up with a plan. Then your father knocked on your door and offered you a job at the family oil firm. It was mind-numbing work, but your dad paid you well. </p><p>One day, you heard a rumor in the break room: a golden envelope had appeared with an offer to buy the company. Your dad was insulted, until he saw the amount. Then he saw an opportunity. </p><p>He called together his board of directors, and you, for some reason. In the boardroom, they told you about a detail that had escaped the gossip: the letter had included a plane ticket to the buyer's office, with a request for your presence and your presence alone. </p><p>You were curious. What could some rich guy want with you that they couldn't get from the men in the room? Your father was wary of sending you alone, but you weren't a little kid anymore. You promised you would be careful.</p><p>And so you went to see the man called Midas. </p><hr/><p>You arrived at Ghost headquarters the next day, quietly awed by its grandeur. It wasn't the tallest building in the city, but it had its own elegance with its white marble and golden accents. You took the elevator to the top floor and emerged into a luxurious lobby laden with ebony and gold, a stark contrast with the rest of the building. You were promptly ushered into the double doors at the far side, into an even larger room with a wide window at the back which had a clear and breathtaking view of the city. Well, not that clear, because standing at the window was a tall man with tattoos surveying the skyline. He turned around at the sound of the door, revealing half was of his face in bandages. He watched you approach with a bland expression and gestured for you to sit when you reached his mahogany desk. He sat himself and a smile broke out on his face as he examined you. You got the impression that he didn't smile very much. </p><p>"And so the unruly alchemist makes her appearance," he said. </p><p>You raised an eyebrow at the archaic phrase, so he went on to explain his needs. Of his organization and its covert activities. Of its discoveries of a curious place where there was an impossible definition of time. Of the operations he would oversee in that world, where he would need a variety of skills. Including a munitions expert. </p><p>"What kind of spy organization needs a munitions expert?" you asked. </p><p>"We use the term 'spy' very loosely here."</p><p>"But aren't spies supposed to be..." You trailed off, annoyed by his vacant expression. "You know, sneaky and secretive? There's nothing more conspicuous than an explosion."</p><p>He laughed, lightly, like he did it more for show than because he was truly amused. "I plan to build our base in the center of the island. What do you think I care about being discreet?" He leveled his gaze at her; his one visible eye glowed golden, unnatural, seductive. "Live as loudly as you wish."</p><p>You didn't need any more convincing. "Just call me TNTina," you said, and that time his laugh was genuine. You shook his hand, only a little concerned about getting gold on your fingers. </p><hr/><p>Your father wasn't happy, but he let you go. You took a portion of his resources and infrastructure that would become the Rig. You trained with the other agents, were given a handbook that you flipped through with only a passing interest. You sat for a portrait, not sure why, until Midas had it carefully wrapped and placed with his things. "So that future generations will remember who to thank," he said, "when the mission is accomplished."</p><p>So much happened in those weeks that most of it passed in a blur. But you would never forget the first time you saw the Agency in its glory, and rode the elevator down into the hideout below.</p><p>You were given the entire second floor basement and told to decorate it however you saw fit. Anything you needed appeared as you requested it, and usually, it wasn't even gold. You had an entire armory of explosives at your command, and you couldn't help but move most of them into your room. You juggled grenades. You peered into the business side of a rocket launcher. You tinkered with remote explosives and proximity grenades. And yes, you made some mistakes along the way. But the walls were so thick that you never scared Meowscles on the floor below.</p><p>You took your squad of henchmen to the Rig and showed them around. You set up an office there in the southwest corner, where you could see the entire area. You weren't there very often, but whenever the battle bus appeared in the sky, Midas sent you out and you watched for the strangers to appear. </p><p>You didn't know much about them. You knew that they came from the bus, and that they were very hostile. Sometimes you were able to best them, but more often, they won, and you found yourself back in the hideout no worse for wear. It was kind of unnerving, but you were too annoyed at losing to worry too much about it. </p><p>You did worry about what Midas was planning. He spent most of his time in his office at the bottom of the hideout or at the Agency and politely declined any invitations to spend free time with the rest of the group. </p><p>It wasn't for lack of trying. You and the other agents had bonded quickly. Skye had plenty of board games and explained the rules from memory, but they were so complicated that Meowscles flipped the table. The group stuck to simpler games: jenga, checkers, monopoly. Sometimes video games, though only you and Skye had consoles and found that you both had a strange dearth of multiplayer titles and mostly stuck to comparing high scores. (She had you beat everywhere you looked, so you resolved to try harder.) You held movie nights, where Maya shushed everyone who tried to talk and ate all the popcorn. Even the stoic and imposing Brutus was convinced into singing karaoke with Skye, enduring Ollie bouncing between their heads as they watched the screen and screamed syllables that didn't quite fit with the beat. </p><p>Perhaps that was why he joined Shadow a week later. </p><p>You expected Midas to get upset, but he didn't. Didn't even hold a meeting to tell the group; just one day, you all realized you hadn't seen Brutus in the hideout for a while, and that was that. Midas simply gave you a folder bearing Ghost's emblem and told you to complete the tasks, dropping a letter in one of the Ghost mailboxes every time one was finished. You asked about Brutus, but he ignored you and asked his own question: "Have you seen my chair from the conference room?" You shook your head. He frowned and crossed out a whole line of calculations on the paper he was staring at, then started a new equation beneath it. You left his office, confused. </p><p>The tasks seemed mundane, but you found yourself spending less time in the hideout because of it. Holly Hedges. Retail Row. You felt Midas' eyes on you, staring out from the Ghost recruitment posters on the walls. You grabbed explosives, soared in a motorboat. You completed every task and returned to Midas triumphant. </p><p>He didn't bother looking up from his work. Just handed you another folder, with another set of tasks. Pleasant Park. Slurpy Swamp. Sweaty Sands. The Agency itself, now strange in the daylight when you were so used to being trapped beneath it. </p><p>You were looking for a motorboat near Steamy Stacks when you noticed him out of the corner of your eye. Watching you with those wide blank eyes, or what counted for eyes when you were wearing a mask. You kept checking behind you, spotting him just before he ducked out of sight. He was the one you had been warned about, the man who wasn't a man. The leader of Shadow, who had already stolen Brutus. </p><p>You found a boat and were about to get in when you noticed him nearby. You took out your boom bow, but he held up his strange hands in a show of surrender. <em>You know,</em> he said, <em>I'm the one who put the missiles on those boats. Clever, right?</em></p><p>You glanced at the boat, then back at him. He'd gotten closer, somehow, though you hadn't seen him take a step. "It's a good design," you admitted. "But it could be better, I think."</p><p>He tapped his fingers together, all four of them. <em>I'd love to hear your thoughts,</em> he said. </p><p>You shook your head. You jumped in the boat and drove off. But when you looked behind you, he was there on the shore, watching, not as far away as you thought he would be for how far you'd driven. </p><hr/><p>Midas wasn't interested in hearing about improved explosives on the motorboats. "Those boats were supposed to be for recon, not for combat," he said, drawing a faint line between two points on his diagram. "If anything, they need to be removed. I have some henchmen working on it."</p><p>"Maybe we could put missiles on the new choppers, then," you suggested. </p><p>"No." One crisp syllable, cutting off any further discussion. </p><p>What a waste, you thought, inspecting the boats near the Rig. The missiles were good utility. Wouldn't you rather have them, even just for defense, than not? Hadn't he told her to live loudly, back before the loop? It was hard to remember now. </p><p>You were near Flopper Pond, trying to fish with explosives, when you noticed the henchmen. Shadow henchmen, to be specific, though you were nowhere near the Grotto. You followed them back to a nondescript house, and watched as they entered. What were they doing in there? Did anyone else know about this? You took out your boom bow and decided to check it out. You tried to peek in the windows, but as you leaned against the glass, the front door opened and a head poked out. It was Chaos Agent. </p><p><em>Hello,</em> he said. <em>Would you like to come inside?</em></p><hr/><p>He didn't seem to be that evil. </p><p>He made you some tea and listened to your ideas. About combustion and chemical reactions and projectiles. He nodded and took notes and then took a card from his suit pocket. <em>You could be a real asset to Shadow,</em> he said. <em>If you're interested, just drop me a line through a Shadow mailbox, and we can get to work on making your ideas a reality.</em></p><p>You took his card. But you didn't drop it in a mailbox. </p><hr/><p>Midas asked you a question the next time he saw you in the hideout. "If you wanted to demolish the Agency," he said, "how would you do it?"</p><p>This was an odd, even unnerving, question, and you told him as much with an uneasy laugh. He waved it off and gave you a blueprint of the Agency, showing all the levels both above and below. </p><p>"What's this big tunnel up the center?" you asked, but he kept pressing you. You placed an X on points around the vestibule, on every level overlooking the entryway. "Like that." You handed it back. He nodded. "Remember to finish your tasks this week," he said, and left. </p><p>"Wait," you called, but he didn't turn around. Just like always. </p><hr/><p>You dropped the card in the mailbox, the next time you were out. </p><p>When you returned to the Rig, there was a black envelope on your desk. <em>If you're truly interested,</em> read the letter inside, <em>please destroy a Ghost mailbox or two for me.</em></p><p>So you went to Frenzy Farm with remote explosives and found a mailbox you had used before to report progress. You stuck one to the side and hid behind a tree while you pressed the button. The shrapnel stuck in the trunk. </p><p>When you got back to the hideout, Midas was guarding the entrance, arms crossed and sporting a nasty glare. "Leave," he said, and that was that. </p><p>You headed for the Rig, because where else could you go?</p><hr/><p>But the Rig was in ruins. </p><p>You drove a boat across the water and ran up the metal stairways, coughing in the smoke. The beams were torn and twisted, bolts sliding across the steps and down into the water. Oil coated the debris floating in the waves. You asked your henchmen what had happened, but none of them knew. You locked yourself in your office and tried to think. </p><p>But on your desk were two envelopes: one black and one golden. You opened the black one first. </p><p><em>Welcome to Shadow. I've left new uniforms for your henchmen in the phone booths. I suggest they change immediately.</em> It was unsigned, but it was obvious who it was from. </p><p>You opened the other one. There was only one word on the golden sheet of parchment, written in an elegant and familiar hand: <em>Oops.</em></p><p>You crumpled it up and left your office with it clenched in your first. You shouted at the henchmen to change, and they scrambled out of sight. You threw the wad of paper into the sea, where it floated with the rest of the debris from your base. It wasn't worth cleaning up. </p><hr/><p>Working for Shadow wasn't much different from working for Ghost, in the end. There was still plenty you didn't know, plenty you weren't told. But the more time passed, the less it seemed to matter. The strangers still jumped from the bus, still came at you with their foraged loot and blank gazes. But they came in smaller numbers, and sometimes, not even at all. You tried to make small talk with the henchmen, but they'd been hired for brawn, not for brains. </p><p>This gave you a lot of time to think, which mostly meant that you were bored. You thought of the hideout and wondered what side the remaining agents would pick. You thought of the tunnel beneath the Agency and wondered what it was for. You thought of who you were before you came to the island, but it was like trying to catch the rain between your hands. You knew you must've had parents, but you couldn't picture their faces. You couldn't remember if you had a big family. You weren't sure if you had siblings. </p><hr/><p>A transmission appeared on the monitors: an image of some sort of hatch or vault, maybe. It came with a question: <em>Do you know what this is?</em></p><p>You had no idea. Nor did you have any idea what the machine was that arrived a week later, but you placed it in the case in your office because you were told to keep it safe. </p><p>Then the storm changed. It came in slower, now. Its path of ruin struggled to cross the ocean and reach the island, sputtering as it closed around the Agency. You watched it from the Rig, kicking debris out from under your feet. </p><p><em>Soon,</em> read the letter from Chaos Agent. But what did it mean?</p><p>Then the flood came, and the Rig was swept away with the waves. </p><hr/><p>Some of it survived. You wrangled some of it onto the floating swaths of garbage, but it was still a tottering mess. You called for help, but none came. Instead, all your henchmen were called to the Agency, or as it was now labeled on the map, the Authority.</p><p>The news came in waves: Meowscles, retired, now a father with a business; Midas, deposed and left out to dry somewhere; Jules, a Shadow engineer who now ran the Authority. You squinted at the picture that came with the letter and were surprised to find her face somewhat familiar. It was a while before you remembered the framed photo in Midas' office, in the background but prominent enough to notice. </p><p>So there was nothing for you to do, again. You told Chaos Agent you were done, but he didn't care. He'd forgotten about you. </p><p>You sat in the remains of your office and watched the Fortilla rise on the horizon. Would any of the agents be there? They painted the Ghost symbol everywhere they could and cast lights into the sky. They planted cabbages and broadcast messages that few could hear. You thought about going over there, but decided against it. It's not like you wanted to visit the Authority, either. </p><p>Every time the water level dropped, the Rig became more rickety. You knew that was what the strangers called it now: Rickety Rig. But you stayed there because it was home, and because you didn't know where else to go. </p><hr/><p>One day, Brutus came to visit.</p><p>You hadn't seen him since he joined Shadow. Even now, he was wearing the uniform, but you didn't ask about it. You let him do the talking. He asked for help in setting up gas stations around the map. Infrastructure the island desperately needed to get back on its feet. You shrugged. He sighed. </p><p>"Don't you want to build something for once, instead of destroying it?" he asked. </p><p>You thought about that, after he left without an answer. Everyone on the island was focused on violence, on destruction. Why should you be any different? But the strangers didn't notice you anymore; they ran around the island without caring you were there. </p><p>Maybe he had a point. </p><p>You took out a map of the island and started marking places. Salty Springs. Sweaty Sands. Pleasant Park. That cliff between Slurpy Swamp and Misty Meadows. Somewhere near Holly Hedges too, maybe. You tried to space them out, gauging how long a tank of gas might last on the roads, once they resurfaced. You sent the result to Brutus. He responded immediately. "Let's get to work."</p><hr/><p>He had a gift for you, when all the work was done: a Whiplash in cherry red. </p><p>You were delighted. You zoomed around the island with the windows down, letting your hair fly wild in the wind. You turned the radio to full blast and sang along without knowing the words. </p><p>Then the song cut off abruptly in a rush of static, followed by a hesitant voice. "Can you hear me?"</p><p>You knew the voice. You just weren't sure where it could be coming from. </p><p>You tried the Fortilla, but Ocean was leery of letting you in. She claimed to have no information about the broadcast, but you didn't really believe her. You drove around in your Whiplash, but more slowly than before. You were filling up at Sweaty Sands when you looked out over the water and spotted the boat. </p><p>You abandoned the car and ran to the beach. You shouted her name until she poked her head out. But she shook her head. "I can't," Skye said. </p><p>But eventually, she did. </p><hr/><p>Skye drove slowly at first but quickly grew addicted to taking risks. Sometimes, she drove even faster than you would, taking turns at a speed that usually resulted in the car being lost in a river. You'd both reach the surface, coughing, but she would clap her hands and shout "Again!" while Ollie bounced on her head in delight. And you had to admit, she was better at driving a car to its breaking point than you were. But you preferred it when the cars exploded anyway, even if it meant getting back on the bus. </p><p>You drove to Catty Corner, and waved at Meowscles in his office. He waved back, but rarely came out to greet you. Sometimes you saw Kit, tinkering on some machine. Sometimes you saw Lynx, petting one cat or the other, or sometimes deep in discussion with Meowscles in the office. But usually, it was a quick fill-up, perhaps with a short snack run, and then it was back on the road. </p><p>It was during one of those stops, with you waving at Meowscles while Skye was filling the car, that all three of you heard your communicators, still in your ears after all this time, go off all at once. </p><p>"Get to the Fortilla immediately," said the voice you never thought you'd hear again, not after the tone he'd used when he'd told you in no uncertain terms to leave. It was the same tone he was using now. The one that brooked no disagreement. "We have work to do." </p><p>And you all went, because even if you had no loyalty to that man, or whatever faction he might be working for this time, you did miss the missions. Even if they were routine. Even if you didn't know what they were for. What you missed were your friends, and where they went, you would follow. </p>
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